


Searching For Lost Time

by DuchessKitty16



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, Ballet Dancer Harry, Dancing, Falling In Love, Fluff, Hip Hop dancer Louis, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 05:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6598414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DuchessKitty16/pseuds/DuchessKitty16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is a ballet dancer with special talents and a determination to make his dreams come true. Louis is a hip hop b-boy from Manchester who’s been given a chance to attend the prestigious Royal Academy of Dance in London. Louis feels like he has something to prove and show the rest of the dance world that hip hop is just as important an art form as anything other dance discipline. Harry and Louis clash at first and then learn that collaborating makes them stronger.</p><p>Based on this prompt that I was given:<br/>Louis and Harry study at a dance academy. Harry studies ballet and Louis studies hip-hop. They both stay behind after classes to practice and they leave the doors of the rooms open. With their classes across each other, their music is loud and it annoys the other. After a few weeks, Harry and Louis discover that maybe ballet and hip-hop don't sound too bad together.</p><p>AKA; the one where two types of dancing fit unexpectedly well together, much like Harry and Louis themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Searching For Lost Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saori/gifts).



> Well I finally finished this. It isn’t exactly what I’d originally planned to write but a little thing called ligament repair surgery on my dominant hand, put me out of commission for over a month which was unexpected. Plus there was that little annoying occurrence when 3 chapters of this story accidentally got deleted. You guys would've thought I'd lost my child for the amount of tears I cried over that loss. So this ended being a very different and shorter fic than I'd planned (and much less smutty, if fact there is really anything at all here).  
> But working from someone’s prompt was fun and I would gladly do it again. I hope Saori likes this. I look forward to writing more in other Exchanges in the future.  
> A couple of things referenced in this fic - Le Combat des Anges by Roland Petit from ballet Proust ou les intermittences du cœur is a real ballet based on the famous novel by Marcell Proust called In Search of Lost Time. The title of this fic is taken from that novel.  
> I would highly recommend everyone watch this video from the Ballet of The National Opera of Paris performing Le Combat des Anges. It’s very beautiful.

Louis climbed out of the taxi, dragging his heavy wheeled duffle bag behind him. As the car pulled away he looked up at the somewhat ominous and looming entrance in front of him, staring at the words “Royal Dance Academy” that were etched in Gothic letters in the stone above the large double doors.

He was here. Louis was at The Royal and he still couldn’t quite believe it. He felt more than saw, pedestrians bustling around and past him as he continued to stare dumbly up at the building in front of him. A few people, dance students he supposed, gave him weird stares as they brushed by him to walk up the stairs to the school entrance. One girl hesitated in the open doorway, resting against the door with her back to hold it open.

“You coming in?” The girl, with hair dyed a shocking lilac Louis just realized, inquired of him.

“Uh, yeah. Um…” Louis hesitated for another second before smiling at the girl, who smiled back. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Are you just starting here this term? Oh! Are you in Ballet II or III? It would be so brill if you were! You could be my pas de deux partner because I need someone short!”

All of this came rushing out of the girl’s mouth in a northeastern accent so thick that it rivaled the thick Yorkshire accents that Louis had grown up around. It took him a minute to register that the pretty girl had just called him short.

“Hey! The hell you calling short?! And no, I’m not in ballet. Thank god.” Louis added derisively.

“Aw man, that sucks. I’m really tired of having partners that are so much larger than I am. Some girls are into that but I’m not. And I’m sorry I implied that you’re short but I mean…” And the light purple-haired girl gestured with her hand up and down pointing at Louis, “You aren’t the tallest are you? And you’d definitely be considered short compared to most of the male ballet dancers here.”

“I’m NOT in ballet, I told you!” Louis interrupted her. He stopped walking abruptly, realizing he had just blindly followed the girl down a corridor, not at all knowing where he was supposed to be headed or if he was going the correct way.

“Wait. I don’t even know where I’m going. I need to find Calvin Rodgers. Do you know where his office or studio is?” Louis asked the girl.

“Is he the new hip-hop instructor then? I think his office is the last one down that hall there.” The girl pointed towards a corridor to their left that they had just passed.

“Uh thanks.” Louis said as he hefted his duffle up onto his shoulder and turned to head down the hall.

“You’re welcome. And hey, I’m Perrie.” She smiled and flipped her purple bangs back.

“I’m Louis. Louis Tomlinson.”

“Well, don’t be a stranger Louis Tomlinson. I’d love to watch you dance some time. You are here to dance, right?” Perrie smiled and raised her eyebrows coquettishly.

“Yeah, I’m here to dance. I’ll see you around Perrie.” Louis winked with a smile and headed down the hall at a sprint. He was supposed to have been meeting Cal almost 20 minutes ago.

Louis found Cal’s office just where Perrie said it would be, a very small space at the end of a dingy hallway. Cal looked up from his laptop as Louis knocked on the glass of his door and walked in.

“Sorry I’m late, man. I got sort of turned around.” Louis apologized as he dropped his duffel on the ground by Calvin’s desk and threw himself in the chair facing his childhood friend.

“When have you actually ever been on time for anything, Tommo?” Cal gave him an incredulous look. “That’s why I told you to be here at 9:30am when class doesn’t actually start until 10:30. Now you’re a whole 30 min early. Isn’t that great?”

Louis looked at his old friend with a frown. “Hey, I’m doing YOU a favor, not the other way around. And I don’t know London as well as Manchester. It’s confusing!” Louis crossed his arms and continued to frown.

“Oh Lou, I’m just kidding around. And yeah, you’re doing me a favor; I need an ace, a ringer, in my class. I had to fight for over a year to get this Academy to agree to add hip-hop to their curriculum, and I want to prove to the dean and the wealthy sponsors that an education in this type of dance art can be successful and viable. And more importantly, just as impressive as ballet and contemporary dance.”

“But don’t act like you’re not getting something out of this shithead”, Cal continued, “you’re going to be getting a top notch dance education, for free I might add, and you’ll be getting opportunities and given exposure to resources you could’ve never dreamed of if you’d stayed in Manchester dancing in pubs and community centers or on the street, and teaching the occasional class. When people in the dance world know you’ve gone to the Royal Dance Academy, it means something. This gift I’m giving you can open a lot of doors, Louis.”

Louis felt chagrined. “I know Cal. And I don’t want to seem ungrateful. I’m just…I feel a little, a lot out of my depth. I’m going to be expected to learn these other dance styles and I don’t know my arse from my elbow when it comes to all those fancy dance terms. I don’t know what a fookin Jete is or what not!” Louis felt beyond frustrated.

Cal looked at him with sympathetic eyes. “Yes, you’ll be taking classes in other disciplines. And I’m not saying it won’t be difficult for you, but you’re up to the challenge. You have musicality, Lou. And natural grace. You’re going to do fine. And as far as terms go, the ballerinas don’t know what a ‘chair freeze’ is, or what a ‘flare’ is, so you’re sort of on an even playing ground there.”

“Yeah, but I have a feeling you’re a lot more forgiving of people not knowing the lingo for hip hop than these stuck-up ballet maestros or whoever. They’re all snooty or even worse, mean and _Russian_.” Louis was full on pouting now.

Cal laughed but reached behind his desk and grabbed a book off of a lower shelf of his bookcase. “Here. Take this and read up on some terms. A lot of it is just fancy French words for things you already know how to do.” Cal threw the book at Louis and he caught it against his chest. The title of the large paperback was _Ballet: Terms & Pronunciations _by someone named Pierre Montgomery. Louis rolled his eyes but threw the book on top of his stuff to be placed inside of his duffel anyway.

Cal stood up and walked around his desk to stand next to Louis’s chair. “C’mon then. We’ll go up to the class room and get you acclimated. The other students should be arriving in about 10 minutes or so. You’re not teaching the classes with me remember, but I do want to rely on you and be able to use you as an example for showing the others how to execute the moves. We’re obviously starting out with the basics for this morning’s class. But there are plenty of students here that are really good at hip hop and plenty in my advanced classes that you’ll be taking.” Louis nodded and stood from his chair and walked over to his large duffel.

“You can leave your bags here and we’ll get them on the way home to my apartment later. I’ve got your schedule for this class week right here. It’s pretty light this first week. You should take advantage of that and start getting in practice and personal rehearsal time in the private studios on the 2nd and 3rd floors that students reserve to put their pieces together. Oh yeah, I may have forgotten to mention that each student in the two upper levels is required to create a dance routine for a showcase at the end of the semester.” Cal handed Louis an 8x11 piece of paper that had the dates and times of his classes for the week. It had been slid inside of a laminated plastic clear folder.

“Okay, ready or not, here’s goes nothing.” Louis took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“That’s the spirit!” Cal chuckled as he opened his office door and led the way to the staircase to the left that led to the classrooms on the upper floors.

 ***********************************************************************************************************************************************

 

“Okay guys! You’ve been really great today considering it was your first class and I appreciate the focus you gave me. I’d like to bring Louis forward, to demonstrate how we’ll eventually combine all of the elements you learned briefly today into one cohesive routine. Louis?” Calvin indicated with his sweeping arm that Louis should come forward.

Louis had spent most of the class in the very back, observing everyone and trying to get a feel for what being in a classroom setting for dance was going to feel like. He wasn’t 100% sure he liked the feeling; at times he felt entirely too cramped and like he couldn’t breathe, much less dance. He’d of course danced and taught in a studio setting before, but never one of this magnitude, or with this many people; never with this weight of importance or expectation. But he as he sensed all eyes on him as he started forward, the air in the class studio felt less oppressive and claustrophobic.

Louis felt in his element finally as he came to the front of the room and moved his hips and arms to the beat of the music while tapping his feet in time. With an exaggerated wink to a tall blond ballerina in the front of the class looking at him skeptically, he began twisting and popping his arms, kicking his legs in time to the music that Cal was playing. He rolled his whole body down in a wave, flicking his heels up as the palms of his hands hit the floor, Louis then flipped up into a one handed handstand. He spun in time to the music. Many of the dancers in the class started cheering lightly and clapping along to the beat. He finished coming out of a back spin and sprung up onto his feet before leaning to his left slowly and fluidly controlled, his muscles in perfect control as he made a 45 degree angle with the floor. Louis heard more than saw impressed gasps come from a few of the dancers watching him as he came out of his deep lean in a serpentine roll, immediately dropping into a one-handed spin. He ended the routine with yet another back spin twisting around to end leaning his face into his cupped right hand as if lounging.

The track ended and the class applauded. Cal slapped Louis on the back in congratulations and told him “good job”.

Well, Louis thought, if this is what ‘dance school’ was going to be like, maybe it wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

 

*************************************************************************************************************************************************

Three weeks later, Louis couldn’t believe he’d been so naïve. And so utterly wrong. Learning dance, dancing with technique and precision, was the hardest thing he’d ever attempted.

“Real Dancing”, as his brain had infuriatingly began to call it, required focused concentration. He wasn’t used to following such precise choreography, or being expected to pick up said choreography so quickly. It was different than a member of your crew showing you a new trick or suggesting that you put a K-kick freeze after a planche.

Louis wasn’t being given any baby steps here. Even in the beginner ballet and introductory contemporary classes that he was taking, he was outdanced and outknowledged by people who were younger than he was by several years but who had far more experience than he did.

It was also way more physically demanding than Louis had been expecting. He considered himself to be in good shape; he practiced kickboxing three days a week, ran and was in a parkour club that met regularly, and up until his move to London a few weeks before, he had been in an amateur football league in Manchester that played every weekend. And of course, he danced. He danced every day for hours. And yet each night since starting at The Royal, Louis had come home exhausted. Bone weary and muscle achy and so tired he could barely heat up the ramen noodles or leftover pizza that was making up his diet these days.

Still, despite falling into his bed each night barely able to move, he made time to pull out the large and battered paperback copy of the dance term book that Cal had given him and memorize at least three new terms a night. Louis found it calmed his brain before falling asleep. He was surprised to learn that several aspects of hip hop dance slang had come from traditional dance terms and he found comfort in not feeling as much of a dolt in the ballet classes when Madame Vienne, his French 70 year old beginning ballet teacher who seemed to have it particularly out for him, instructed him to begin doing positions like _ronds de jambes_  on the barre.

The ballet and contemporary lyrical classes were almost impossible, but then so were the intermediate jazz classes that Louis had been assigned based on his past experience as a child taking jazz lessons with his sister Lottie when he was thirteen. And even in the advanced hip-hop lessons that he had with Cal, where he was practically functioning as Cal’s assistant, Louis found himself sometimes falling behind and feeling out of his league in something that he’d always felt natural doing. He sometimes wasn’t sure if he’d last a month, much less a semester at The Royal. And on top of all of this stress, Louis also had to deal with figuring out what he was going to create and perform for the student showcase at the end of the semester. All students in the two upper levels were required to choreograph and perform an original piece for either a solo or a duo. Louis had created original dance pieces before, but never on this scale. And never when so much was riding on the piece being good enough to validate Cal’s teaching and the hip hop program at the school lasting even another year.

All of this was on Louis’s mind several weeks later as he made his way off the Tube at just past seven in the morning, his right hand gripped tightly around a thermos of hot Yorkshire tea. Louis had somehow in his short time here become a morning person against his will. The main reason was that students were encouraged to use the small practice studios when they weren’t in class, and studio space was limited. This meant staying late into the evening or coming in hours before classes began, in order to snag an empty studio for an hour or so. Louis knew that his discipline in these early mornings and his determination would be worth it in the long run when he had an amazing piece to present at the end of the term. He wanted to impress every single person at the Royal, not just the administration. He wanted to prove that hip-hop was just as special and emotionally expressive as ballet or contemporary dance. Now, he only had to begin coming up with something that would knock people’s socks off; the trouble was, he hadn’t even nailed down which music he’d be using. Louis had a lot of work to accomplish in a short time.

*************************************************************************************

The interviewer from ITV was scheduled to be there in a few minutes and Harry was so nervous he was sweating uncomfortably. He was sweating on a chilly spring morning, and he hadn’t even danced yet. It wasn’t even 7am yet! So early; and he hadn’t even had time for coffee or tea before someone from the studio had arrived to dab makeup on his face and blow dry and shape his long hair into a tumble of bouncy waves. Harry was being interviewed for a documentary that was being made about ballet in London. This early hour was the only time the school would let the interview occur, even though the school would be benefiting from the exposure, but Harry supposed it was better than nothing.

What Harry hadn’t expected was the crowd of students and teachers that had shown up to watch the interview. Did they think they’d get placed in the documentary if they lurked in the background? It was all very awkward. Just as Harry stood up from the chair the crew had provided to stretch and try to breathe out some of his nerves, the interviewer, a woman named Imogen Sterling, walked in wearing a pretty pale pink suit and shook his hand.

“Alright Harry is it? Let’s get started shall we?” Imogen smiled briskly and indicated that Harry should sit down in the chair that he’d just vacated. “We’ll start with just a few questions seated here. And then I’ll have you show me some of the Ashton routine. You’re prepared to show us your magic aren’t you? That’s really why we’re here after all, to see a big, strapping, male ballet dancer in little pink toe shoes.”

“Well, they’re tan not pink actually. And will be a dark brown when I actually perform on stage later this month in _Dreams_.” Harry smiled shyly but began chewing his lip in worry when Imogen Sterling just stared blankly back at him.

“My pointe shoes? They’re not pink?” Harry tried again to clarify.

“Ah right, right. Well whatever. You know what I mean. Anyway, let’s get started. We’re on a time crunch.” Imogen smoothed out the crease in her suit pants as she crossed her legs and then a production assistant was pinning microphones to their shirts and all of a sudden they were rolling.

*********************************************************************************

As Louis walked into the Royal Academy of Dance at 7:06AM, he didn’t find quiet, empty hallways waiting for him as he usually did, instead his head smashed right into a boom mic as he stepped through the main entrance.

“Ow, fuck!” Louis exclaimed and rubbed his forehead where he’d been smacked with the piece of equipment.

“Oh, sorry mate. “ A guy carrying a large camera used for television recording in his right hand and the offending boom in his left mumbled his apology as he made his way up the narrow staircase just off from the main floor.

Louis was confused and looked at his watch again confirming the time. What was going on? Why was there evidently a crew filming something for television here? Curiosity got the best of Louis and instead of heading straight to one of the practice studios, like he should have done; he followed the guy up the stairs to see what was happening.

Evidently what was happening was a big enough deal that a large portion of the student body and half of the faculty were crammed in the hallway outside of one of the larger class studios, peering in through the double open doors at whatever was going on inside.

Louis saw that Perrie was near the front of the crowd, and maneuvered his compact body in and around and under people’s appendages and bags to crouch on the floor next to Perrie to get a view of the spectacle.

“Hey Lou, I didn’t know you were coming or I would’ve planned better on space.” Perrie whispered.

“It’s ok. I…uh didn’t actually come in for this. Uh what is this exactly?” Louis whispered back.

“Harry’s getting interviewed for some fancy documentary about ballet. He’s going to be on television. Isn’t that fantastic?!” A production assistant in the room spun around and gave Perrie and Louis an evil look while shushing them.

Perrie rolled her eyes, but nudged closer to Louis and whispered quieter in his ear. “You haven’t missed hardly anything. And the best part won’t be until the end when Harry dances en pointe.” Perrie’s face was full of awe and what might be hero worship mixed with a lot of lust. Louis smiled at her fondly but inwardly groaned. Harry Styles. That impossibly gorgeous ballet dancer who was in Perrie’s year and walked around the school like he was God’s gift. And sure, God had certainly gifted him with a beautiful face and body, but he was so stuck up. Perrie was always telling Louis that he had it wrong about Harry and that he was very sweet, but he’d seen no evidence backing that up. And who was this Harry guy anyway that he was being interviewed for the telly for crissakes? Louis got his answer as the interview started again.

“So Harry, what really made you decide that you wanted to dance in pointe shoes? Did you lose a bet? Is it to prove something? Make a point that guys can do whatever girls can do? And what about your fellow students? Do you get teased?” Imogen leaned forward slightly in her chair.

“Dancing on pointe takes a lot of dedication, but is amazingly beautiful and I love it.  I enjoy expressing myself in that style and I’m far past caring what any other dancer thinks of me. I’ve been teased so much, my whole life for everything I’ve done connected to dance, and insults just don’t hurt me anymore. My skin is thick like a rhino.  Learning pointe has helped me build a tremendous amount of leg and foot strength; develop stronger foot technique, and better balance. I’m a better and stronger dancer than all of the other guys here.  That may sound arrogant, but it’s the truth. Knowing how to dance pointe has also given me a better sense of what my female partners require in partnering. Because I understand pointe, I more quickly understand how to get a girl balanced, or keep her on balance during turns. I’m a better partner because I know to how dance en pointe. This makes me more desirable to choreographers and directors. This skill is invaluable. It can help get me a fast track to a principal role in a major ballet company.”

Harry sat up straighter in his chair as he spoke, and ran his fingers through his long locks, throwing his head back a little as he finished.

Louis didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone as attractive in his life. He and Perrie sat on the floor just inside the doorway to the studio, pressed close together and leaning forward as far as they could to see as much as they could without having one of the crew members yelling at them. Louis couldn’t believe he had existed in the same universe as this gorgeous man, much less been sharing and breathing the same air in this building for the past couple of months. He was going to take Perrie to lunch later today and drag everything she knew about Harry out of her.

Harry and the interviewer stood suddenly, pulling Louis out of his thoughts. They walked over to one of the long ballet barres that ran along the back of the room. Louis noticed for the first time a pair of beige colored pointe shoes resting against the wall where Harry and the woman were standing. Harry was wearing a light blue chambray button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the first several buttons undone revealing the top part of his sculpted chest. This shirt was paired incongruously with a pair of black yoga pants over what appeared to be black tights. This look shouldn’t have worked together, but on Harry it looked sexy and functional.

Louis watched rapt as Harry discussed the details of how pointe shoes are made with the interviewer as he bent over at the waist and slipped his feet into the shoes, tying and securing the ribbons of the shoes around each of his ankles. Once the shoes were tied, Harry went up on his toes and did a few plies from the barre for the camera.

The woman asked Harry a question that Louis didn’t catch because he was too caught up staring at Harry’s arse. But he focused on Harry’s voice again as he spoke.

“Men don’t look as elegant en pointe as women do; our hips are different, we carry our weight in our shoulders, and we look more muscular.”

“It is important for me to remember that just because I’m dancing on pointe, doesn't mean I’m imitating what the women that I dance with are doing. I’m not trying to ‘dance like a girl’. But I don’t want to just do typical “male” steps on point either.  I have to remember to be myself when I dance on pointe.  I approach it the way I would learning any move in ballet or another style of dance.” With those words Harry stepped away from the barre and did several graceful turns across the room to the other side; the camera followed him almost lovingly. Louis felt a thrill zing through his body like an electric charge as he watched Harry.

The woman ended the interview saying something facing the camera, but Louis was only paying attention to the way Harry stood there in his pointe shoes, one leg flexed up with his knee slightly bent, resting his weight on the toe of one shoe.

The interviewer thanked Harry and turned from the camera to shake his hand. Once the camera was turned off she told Harry that she would love to come to the showcase at the end of the semester to see him dance a full piece on pointe. Harry smiled, seeming suddenly bashful and shy, and told the woman that he would be honored.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

 

It was late afternoon and classes were complete for the day. Louis opened the door to Calvin’s office without asking and dropped dramatically into the chair in front of Cal’s desk.

“What’s wrong now?” Cal barely controlled not rolling his eyes as he looked back down to the lesson plan he was working on completing.

“I don’t even know where to start.” Louis whined. “I got up at the crack of arse to use a studio before classes but didn’t end up being able to get into one; Madame Vienne yelled at me again about my posture and what she calls my ‘noodool arms’; I’m exhausted because I haven’t had enough caffeine today and you know, the aforementioned awake since the arse crack o’ dawn thing; all of the studios are filled right now because of course they are, so I’m going to have to hang around here for another few hours waiting; and oh, yeah, why do I even need a practice studio when I don’t even have a beginning of a fucking clue what I’m going to do for my showcase piece!”

Louis groaned and threw his head back in annoyance.

“Jesus, have you always been this whiny?” Cal asked unsympathetically. “What happened this morning that you couldn’t get into a studio? From what I heard they were all empty; the entire building was practically a ghost town except for the second floor where everyone was crowded together trying to get on tv.” Calvin hesitated and then fixed Louis with a squinted stare. “Wait. Let me guess, you were part of the famewhore crowd on floor 2?”

Louis gave an affronted huff of his breath, and tried to avoid Cal’s eyes but it didn’t work.

“Fine. Yes. I watched the documentary segment filming this morning. And oh my god Cal, I think I’m in love. I’m definitely in lust.” Louis thought back to Harry’s dimply smile, his pink plush lips and his green eyes.

“Harry Styles is out of your league, mate.”

“Is he straight?” Louis asked hopefully.

Calvin rolled his eyes. “I try not to know a ton about the sexual proclivities of the students here. That would be creepy and unethical.”

Louis threw his head back again feeling another whine coming on. “From what I’ve seen of him walking around like his shit doesn’t stink, it doesn’t seem like he’s into girls or boys; like people in general are just inferior to him.  I don’t know what to think about him except that he pointedly ignores me and pretends I’m not there whenever I’m in a group with him and Perrie and all of their friends. He definitely seems like a stuck up arsehole who thinks he’s the most brilliant dancer alive. But then again he has a lot of girls who are friends; I don’t think they’d hang out with him if he was a dick. I’m not sure about anything beyond that.”

“Why don’t you ask your precious Perrie?” Cal ventured.

“I would ask her if I had any time!” Louis exclaimed. “I wanted to ask her at lunch, but I had to skip it to work on those new steps from you. Remember?”

Cal shook his head and rolled his eyes again, thoroughly fed up with his young friend. “Okay, whatever Louis. The end of term showcase is the most important thing. Last time we spoke you hadn’t even decided on which piece of music you’d be using, much less started choreographing a routine. Are you any further along?”

Louis nervously shrugged. “Sort of…?”

“Louis! C’mon this is probably the most important thing you’ve ever had to do, and I know that’s scary. But you’ve got to pull it together and your time is whittling away. And I can’t help you. It wouldn’t be right; Dean Grimshaw has already lectured me on giving you preferential treatment.”

“Cal, I know you can’t help me with the piece and I would never ask you for help. I guess I’m just feeling the pressure because I was so confident before I got here and, well, to be honest I feel like I’m drowning a little. Dancing is hard, mate. Learning and having to do so many different types of choreography, has been way harder than I thought. And all of the technical aspects of ballet! It’s bloody ridiculous how difficult that’s been. Getting chewed out because you’re not holding your fingers just so…it’s terrible. But even worse, I’m starting to care about it! If you’d told me six months ago that I’d be fretting because some ancient French hag was disappointed about the way I held my hand in the air or the tilt of my neck, I would’ve told you to sod off. So yeah, my confidence is kind of shaken, man.”

“Louis I know you can do this. I’ve seen some of those routines that you put together for those kids in Manchester, and they were brilliant. You’ve got what it takes to create a showcase piece that will blow people’s socks off.”

“I hope you’re right.” Louis said quietly almost not trusting his voice not to break into a sob.

“I know I am. How ‘bout this? You work on a minute or two of routine for the top two or three songs you’ve got and at the end of this week I’ll help you decide which track to go with?” Calvin suggested.

“Yeah, yeah that would be great, thanks Cal.” Louis felt a lot better already.

 

 

Later that week, Louis still hadn’t gotten any further in choosing music or nailing down the choreography for his hip hop showcase routine. He was just sending a text to Cal promising that he’d be home by 8pm at the latest and asking Cal to have a bowl of the stew he’d made the day before, waiting warm for him when he walked in. Louis headed up to the second floor to practice in one of the studios the students had for their use. He was just coming back to the studio he was using when he noticed a light at the end of the hall. All was quiet in the corridor.

He'd thought his was the only studio being used but apparently he'd been wrong. The studio at the far end of the corridor had its lights on as well, though at first glance, as Louis approached the room and looked through the glass door, there seemed to be no one in there. Louis put his hand on the door handle, ready to open the door a crack and flip off the lights for whoever had forgotten to do it, when someone moved into view.

The dulcet tones of a Beethoven opus began and filled the studio as the lone figure was bent over stretching. Louis recognized the music from his morning class with Madame Vienne and felt a thrill of pride at being able to pick out the melody from memory. The dancer had their back to Louis, but by the broad shoulders and narrow hips, Louis knew it was a man. When the man finally finished stretching and turned so Louis could get a good look at his profile, his eyes widened. It was Harry Styles. Louis moved to the side of the windowed door, out of direct line of sight but still with a full view of the room, as Harry did a series of turns across the floor wearing toe shoes. Louis was mesmerized by Harry’s movements and grace, especially since Perrie had said that Harry was a huge klutz, always tripping over his own feet. He didn’t look klutzy now.

Harry’s limbs moved fluidly around him as he continued his turns, before moving into a leap. After a few more moves, the song ended and Louis let out the breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Harry was wearing white ballet tights under low-slung, grey jogging bottoms that he’d rolled up past his knees to reveal his strong, dance-sculpted calves. Only the top half of a grey leotard covered him from the hips up, the subtle half-moons of his white tights peeked above the low waist of his joggers, following the curve of the leotards’ hip seams. Unlike the usual button down shirts that Harry wore, unbuttoned low and enticing Louis into wanting to see more and know what was underneath, the outfit he currently sported left no room whatsoever for the imagination to conjure up what Harry had going on. No, any question that Louis’d had was very much answered in the way of sharp hipbones, a subtle not-quite-there six pack, broad shoulders and biceps that were muscular but not too beefy. Harry had managed to strike a figure that fell somewhere comfortably between burly and lean. Louis was a combination of insanely turned on and insanely jealous. Harry was tall, sculpted and the definition of lithe. His superior muscle tone and control was obvious in his posture and the way he held himself. Louis thought back again to earlier in the day and the “noodle arms” comment thrown his way. He knew that Harry had never been told that in his life.

Harry had his long wavy brown hair pulled up into a bun, accentuating his graceful, long neck and making the contours of his face even more appealing. Louis was suddenly very conscious of the fact that he was standing in the shadows of the hallway acting like a proper creeper watching Harry dance. He knew that if he really wanted to be impressive he needed to get his arse back to his own practice room and buckle down and come up with something great. It was daunting but Louis knew deep down he could do it.

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It was the end of April and Harry was in one of the studios on the third floor. Because it was heading into crunch time and everyone was working on their showcase pieces, studio time availability was becoming more and more scarce. Harry had resorted to using one of the three older studios on the third floor, even though the rooms were small, drafty, had warped wooden floorboards, cracked mirrors, terrible sound systems and weren’t soundproof like the newer and renovated classrooms and practice studios in the rest of the building.

Harry had been working for about an hour trying to finalize which piece he was going to dance in the semester showcase. He had narrowed it down to two; the main Donkey solo from Frederick Ashton’s ballet _The Dream_ or the first section of the _Le Combat des Anges_ sequence by Roland Petit from ballet Proust. His plan was to add his own bit of choreography to the end of each piece to make them more dynamic. Both showcased his strengths but Harry still worried that neither were really exciting enough to be impressive. And Harry wanted to be impressive. If he was going to reach his goal of being a principal dancer in a major ballet company before the age of 25, he needed to get noticed. The ITV documentary would help; performing an impeccable and standout showcase at the Royal Academy where there would be important players in the ballet world in the audience, would help even more.

Another hour passed and Harry was still trying to perfect this one movement in Ashton’s _Dream_ piece that required just the right placement of his hands. He was just getting the right placement of his fingers when he was startled out of his concentration by loud bass and thumping beats practically vibrating the walls of the room.

Harry groaned in frustration. Damn it! What the hell was going on? He walked over to the closed door of his studio and looked out the window to see that someone was using the studio across the hall and they had the nerve to have not closed the door fully shut. He huffed in annoyance but turned around and walked over to his stereo where he simply turned up the volume of the Dvorak piece he was practicing to and tried to drown out the rap music from across the way. After five minutes when that didn’t work, he strode across the hall and knocked on the door to the other studio before opening it wider to enter.

The handsome new dance student that Perrie had become such good friends with was just completing a swirled kick in the air that had him twisting into a pike position like a gymnast or a diver before landing almost softly on one knee with his arms extended behind him. The anger momentarily left Harry’s flushed face as he admired the move that....- what was this guy’s name…what had Perrie told him? Lewis? Something French…Luc? Louis!...that was it – Louis had executed. But then the rap music blaring in the room reminded Harry of why he was there.

“Hey! There are other people practicing on this floor. Will you please keep the volume to your rap music at a reasonable level? And for goodness sake, closed the blasted door of the studio!”

Louis just stared up at Harry from his kneeling position on the floor with his mouth open, not responding. Harry’s breath caught in throat as he stared into Louis’s startling blue eyes framed by the lovely long lashes. He could get distracted looking into those blue pools. After a few seconds Harry rolled his eyes, sighed dramatically and turned around, going back over to his studio and pointedly slamming Louis’s door. If Harry thought that would be the end of the problem he was mistaken.

For the next half hour it became a battle of wills between Harry and Louis in their studios across from each other. Louis would play a booming Wu Tang Clan track, Harry would play a thunderous Wagner piece. Fetty Wap was combated with Debussy; Kanye with Brahms. It seemed like each were raising the volume on their stereos after each track. Harry was barely concentrating on his dancing; more focused on which classical music piece he could use in his arsenal of attack next.

He had just decided on another Beethoven piece when the roaring strings that indicated the beginning of 50 Cent’s “In Da Club” began to play. Harry seethed. This was the last straw for him.

“That’s it! That’s fucking it!” Harry screamed as he angrily headed back across the hall and was annoyed to find that the door to Louis’s studio was ajar again. This time without preamble or knocking Harry threw the door open and strode into the studio. Louis stumbled out of some sort of movement that he was doing where he was balancing on one leg and looked shocked as Harry walked up to the stereo and turned off the equipment. The room was plunged into silence leaving only the notes from Beethoven’s 7th symphony playing across the hall.

“Um, what the hell mate. Why did ‘ya barge in here and turn my music off?! I have just as much right to practice in this studio as you do in yours.” Louis stood with his fists clenched and his feet planted like he was about to fight someone.

“I’ve had it with your stupid, loud rap music blaring away and making me lose my concentration. Also, why do you keep opening your fucking door? Are you too warm or something? If so, open a damn window!” Harry fumed.

“It’s not that!” Louis protested. “I’m not purposely leaving the door open. It keeps flying open by itself. This place is so old and shitty that the door jamb is warped and the door won’t close properly. If there was another studio available right now I’d certainly use it. You ballet dancers are all so damn stuck up! My form of dancing is just as important as yours. You may call my music stupid but at least it’s not boring Beethoven!” Louis punctuated his words by crossing him arms defiantly.

Harry was taken aback; both by the fact that he’d forgotten that this studio was the one with the dumb broken door and therefore Louis had a point about it not being at fault, and by the fact that Louis had identified the Beethoven symphony and that he was unfortunately correct about it being both boring and derivative. But he wasn’t going to back down about his reasons for turning Louis’s music off.

“Listen. I’m not saying that you don’t have as much right to use a practice studio as I do. And I would never tell a fellow dancer that their dance expression wasn’t valid. I respect all forms of dance. But I’m not going to be forced to listen to music that I find offensive and hurtful while I’m trying to work. It’s awful and makes me emotional. It really affects my concentration and creativity.”

“What are you on about?!” Louis scrunched his face up and raised his eyebrows in bewilderment.

“That song? ‘In Da Club’? It’s misogynistic and homophobic and you of all people should be ashamed to be thinking about dancing to it.”

“Why?” Louis asked incredulously.

“He says the ‘f word’ at least six times!” Harry looked at Louis just as annoyed.

“Fuck? Why the hell are you offended by that word? I thought Perrie said you were 20. Are you actually an 85 year old woman?”

“Not ‘fuck’ you halfwit; ‘faggot’. How can you bear to listen to this song?”

“Huh?”

“You’re gay too aren’t you?! Doesn’t it insult you? It does me.” Harry looked pleadingly at Louis.

“Oh. Um… I…yeah. I mean yeah, I’m gay, but I never really thought about the words to the song really, I guess. It’s just got an incredible driving beat that is perfect to dance to.” Louis looked down at his feet, not quite sure what more to say or how to take the fact that Harry knew (assumed?) he was gay. Had Harry asked Perrie about him? He’d have to grill her later. He was also thrilled to know for a fact that Harry played on his same team.

After a few seconds of awkwardly strained silence Harry threw his hands down in disgust and turned to head back to the room across the hall.

Louis stopped him with a grip on his arm but lowered his hand quickly when Harry looked down at it with a frown. “Harry, I’m sorry. I really never thought about the song’s lyrics before. I’ve never paid attention to any of the lyrics to songs I dance to I guess. And being the only gay guy in my dance crew, it probably wouldn’t have been the best thing to bring up. But I get it. I get why you’re upset.”

“Thanks. Louis, right?” Harry tentatively smiled. Louis almost melted into the floor upon seeing the ghost of dimples in Harry’s cheeks. Was this kid for real?

“And I won’t be using 50 Cent anyway. I was using it to jog my memory a little.”

Harry looked at Louis quizzically, but with interest.

Louis tried to explain. “I don’t know if it’s the same for ballet, but after I’ve learned a particular routine to a particular song, sometimes months or years later the only way I can remember certain moves or tricks is to dance to the song again. It’s like some weird muscle memory thing.” Harry fully smiled at him then; his dimples so deep that Louis wanted to poke his finger into them and Louis felt like the sun was shining on him, even though it was close to ten in the evening.

“I know exactly what you’re talking about!” Harry exclaimed. “There’s this one leap that I only do well if I do it to this one Tchaikovsky piece.”

“Right. Yes. So anyway, I was trying to remember this certain move because I’m thinking about putting it into my showcase piece, but I don’t know if it’s even going to work.”

“Well it looked good before I came barging in here, distracting you.” Harry shrugged.

Louis sighed and wiped a hand down his face. “I’m struggling actually. I still haven’t 100% decided on the music that I’ll be using for the piece. I’ve choreographed a bunch of bits and pieces that are totally disjointed and don’t have any sort of flow. I don’t know what I’m going to do or what I’m going to end up with.”

“Listen, um, if you want help, or like maybe want to show me what you’ve got so far, maybe I can help?” Harry offered but immediately started to panic when he saw the frown on Louis’s face. “I mean, I could also just maybe help you choose the music? Are you familiar with Vitamin String Quartet? They have wonderful classical string versions of modern songs, including hip hop. I think I have one of their covers of a Kanye song on my iPhone if you want to listen?” Harry seemed so sweet and sincere, which was such a change from when he’d burst into the room earlier that Louis couldn’t help but smile.

“Yeah, that’d be great. I think I saw the JabbaWockeeZ do a routine to those Vitamin guys doing a cover of Janet Jackson’s ‘Control’. That was pretty cool. Lead the way young Harold.” Louis bowed and extended his right arm.

“My name’s not Harold.” Harry chided Louis but couldn’t help the corners of his mouth from turning up a little. “Come on.”

Once they were inside Harry’s practice room with the working door firmly shut, they listened to music for another couple of hours. They traded off plugging in each of their phones into the stereo and playing various songs for each other while switching between dancing little mini routines, almost showing off like a dance battle, and lounging on the wooden floor of the studio, sitting on two of Harry’s hoodies that he’d had in his gym bag.

Harry indeed had a VSQ version of ‘Stronger’ that Louis thought might work for a future routine but wasn’t right for the showcase piece. Harry tried to convince Louis that hip hop done to Wagner would be radical and would definitely get him noticed; then attempted to prove it to him by standing up and krumping to the Tannhauser overture, or doing his version of it anyway, which Louis thought made him look like a demented scarecrow, and had him laughing hysterically and rolling around on the floor holding his stomach.

“Do you like anything that doesn’t have a violin or cello in it?” Louis asked barely restraining himself from rolling his eyes.

“Yes. I also love old Motown R&B and bands from the 60s like the Shirelles and the Four Seasons.”

This time Louis didn’t hold back his eyeroll, but then he snapped his fingers because he remembered something. He got up and walked over to the stereo, trading out Harry’s phone for his and scrolling through his music until he found the track he was looking for.

Madcon’s ‘Beggin’ started playing and Harry immediately perked up in interest. Louis started feeling the beat and shuffling his feet a bit before moving into a series of Top Rock, Up Rock and Down Rock steps moving across the floor. Louis did solar eclipses where he balanced on one hand on the floor and bounced up and down. Then undulated his body in a rolling motion to a standing position before jumping to spin in the air, landing lightly on his feet and down into a spin on the floor that ended with his legs in the air. The song ended and Harry stood immediately and began clapping.

“Louis! That was wonderful. What was that last little move called that you did with your legs?”

“It’s called a flare.”

“You should do what you just danced for the showcase! Or at least use that song. And I’m not just saying that because it’s one of my favorite Four Seasons songs.”

Louis blushed a bit at Harry’s praise. “Thanks Harry. What I just danced is very different from what I had in mind for the showcase, but I do like your idea of using this song. I forgot how fun it was to dance to.” Louis offered Harry another shy smile, and he felt a little more of his heart melt. Nope! He would not get distracted by Louis Tomlinson!

“Well, I’m glad I could be of help. Um, it’s pretty late. I think I should head home.”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. I’ll just head back over to my room and get my stuff to go.” Louis smiled again.

Harry nodded and started gathering his things. Louis went back across the hall and grabbed his messenger bag and hoodie and turned the lights off in the studio. The two of them met in the hall and walked towards the stairs together.

“Well, good night. It was nice discussing music and getting your take on things.” Louis hoped that Harry thought he was sincere. “And I’m sorry about the loud volume and distracting beats.”

“It’s okay. I still don’t like most of the music you listen and dance to, but it shouldn’t be my place to judge.”

They were out on the sidewalk now; the doors of the academy safely secured behind them. They exchanged goodnights, Harry went north probably heading to whatever posh apartment he lived in (Louis could just tell that Harry was rich) and Louis turning south towards the tube station.

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A few days later found Harry and Louis once again in the practice rooms across from each other on the third floor. This time they were trying to be respectful of each other and keep the volume of their music as low as they could but still be able to hear all of the beats and melody needed to dance. Harry had the practice room with the wonky door this time and kept on going over to it to close it. This time out of the corner of his eye he saw Louis do a twisting turn in the air and sneaked across the hall to quietly take a closer look.

Louis was kneeling on the floor, slowly gliding to lie on his back, feet planted on the floor. The music kicked in, and Louis lifted his hips, arching his back up high and  _oh_ \- that really wasn't what Harry needed to be looking at right now. He could feel himself hardening under his dance belt.

Louis suddenly flipped himself up and then straight down into a plank, balancing on his forearms and toes. He then pushed his body up off the ground and did a rolling spin before landing on his back and spinning in a circle. Louis was all strong lines and confident movements; he was beauty and he was strength, looking like he belonged on a world stage as much as any prima ballerina. Harry realized he’d been dismissive of hip-hop as a legitimate dance medium even though he’d told people numerous times that he wasn’t. He felt bad, and he wanted to fix it. With each step Louis made and each trick that he executed to the music’s driving bass, Harry was captivated, and his eyes were completely glued to Louis's body.

The Whiz Khalifa song (Harry recognized it from their music sharing night) hammered on and Louis launched himself into a jump, doing a series of barrel rolls before landing perfectly and light as a feather onto the floor. Louis then moved into a sequence of steps that Harry could barely keep up with, covering every inch of the studio floor. And he didn't stop, he kept in time and followed the song until the very end, ending in a spin on his back in the middle of the floor. Harry could see his Louis’s chest rising and lowering with deep breaths, sweat soaking into his t-shirt and staining it dark. He had his eyes shut, lips parted as he breathed steadily.

Harry felt almost light-headed; all of the blood had seemed to have rushed to his groin and he felt like he might pass out. Harry wanted to dance with Louis; he wanted to experience the high that he got while dancing and he wanted it with Louis. He felt inspired. But Harry was worried that he wasn't going to be able to look Louis in the eye again without picturing him in trackies that hugged his muscled thighs and gorgeous arse, his golden skin glistening with sweat.

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“Hey Louis, this is a crazy idea. And you can totally say no. In fact I’m sure you’ll want to say no. But I’ve been thinking about different dance styles and what it would look like if elements were combined. My idea is pretty out there…” Harry hesitated as they stood outside in the cool spring evening, and stood pigeon toed in his scuffed suede Chelsea boots and skinny jeans he’d changed into after practice. Louis was endeared, and felt fondness seeping out of him as he smirked at Harry.

“Harry, just tell me.”

“Would you consider dancing a routine with me in the Spring Showcase?”

“WHAT??” Louis almost croaked out in shock.

“Hear me out. There’s a piece that I’ve wanted to perform for years called the Dance of the Two Angels. It tells the story of two angels, one good, and one bad.  The scene is a battle of these two angels, but also shows how they once fell in love with each other and how they destroyed that love by being jealous and mean to each other. I was originally going to just dance the first movement of the piece where Saint-Loup, the good angel, dances by himself reminiscing on his love affair with Morel when it was good. Originally I had talked with my friend Johnny about doing the full piece with me, but he said he wouldn’t do it because of the gay themes and he didn’t want to ‘ruin his reputation’ or some bullshit. But now, Louis, this is so much better. We could do the whole piece, but completely turn it on its ear. I could dance the role of Saint-Loup entirely en-pointe and you could update the Morel part into more of a hip hop piece. It would be brilliant!”

Louis leaned against the wall trying to take in everything that Harry had just said in that slow, deep voice of his.

“I…Harry…I’m horrible at ballet. You should hear the complaints Madame Vienne makes about me on a regular basis. This is a horrible idea. I’d be hopeless.”

“No Louis, I know you wouldn’t be. Not after what I’ve seen you do. I’ll show you some YouTube videos of the ballet so you’ll understand what I’m talking about. Morel’s part is almost 80% floor work which you could easily adapt into a more hip hop style. And most of the ballet work for Morel is strength positions. You’ve got strong legs and an amazing center of gravity from what I can see, Louis. I bet even Madame Vienne would admit that. Just keep an open mind until you’ve watched the video.”

“Alright. I’ll watch it tonight when I get home and I’ll consider your idea.” Louis agreed. “Speaking of, it’s very late and we both need our beauty sleep. Let’s call it a night.”

 “I’m serious Louis, about us doing Le Combat des Anges together. Watching you dance has made something click in my head. I have all of these ideas floating around; I need to get them on paper and begin sorting them out, but I think that dancing with you and combining our styles would make us the standouts from the showcase. It would have everyone talking.”

“Well I’m not going to lie; I like the idea of standing out, but only for something good, not because I’m a disaster on the stage. I’m pretty scared of the idea of doing this, but I will commit to thinking about it seriously.”

“That’s all I ask. Thanks Louis. We don’t know each other very well, or at all really, but I think we could make something great.” Harry gave Louis a big smile as he said this and Louis knew he’d probably end up doing whatever it was Harry wanted; if he could get Harry to keep smiling at him like this, he’d give him the world.

 

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Louis had as promised watched the YouTube video that Harry had sent him of the Paris National Ballet’s performance of Le Combat des Anges, and had immediately texted Harry afterwards and told him Yes! he’d dance with him.

They began meeting every evening after all of their classes were through to work on their routine. Sometimes they stopped at a decent hour and had dinner at one of the small, cheap restaurants near the school. Thai one night, curry the next; falafel from the street cart around the corner or Louis’s favorite, the divey little Italian restaurant across the street from the tube station. Harry never let Louis pay for dinner; not one shilling. Harry always insisted, arguing that he had plenty of money that he didn’t work for, and Louis had worked hard to save and accrue what little he had in savings to live off of while at school.

Louis had long gotten past protesting about it and just vowed privately to himself instead to take Harry out for an extravagant dinner at the end of the semester to celebrate (or commiserate) their performance. Louis also made up for it somewhat by making Harry and he sandwiches that he kept in Cal’s small refrigerator during the day and on the nights when they stayed after in the practice rooms to well past midnight rehearsing, they’d make time for a little picnic of sandwiches, tea from Louis’s thermos, and packages of Tim Tam cookies that Cal always had at the house and Louis always stole.

Louis and Harry were growing closer together and learning everything about each other. Louis couldn’t believe that he’d ever thought Harry was stuck-up or closed off. The reality of Harry was so amazing and breathtaking. He was pure and sweet natured; a weird goofball but also the smartest person Louis had ever met; and Perrie had not been joking when she said he was accident prone. Louis had never met someone so graceful, yet so clumsy. Harry Styles was an enigma wrapped in sunlight. Louis felt himself falling hard. But he was determined not to mess up their collaborative working relationship; especially if Harry didn’t feel the same way.

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The air in the studio smelled like Rosemary the piano accompanist’s perfume, sweat and rosin. Piano music and the sound of toe shoes on wood filled the room and the floor to ceiling mirrors reflected the dancers; their bodies in perpetual motion, their faces concentrating, focused on executing the choreography exactly as they had been taught. When the last few bars of the music faded away, the students finally came to a stop, arms gracefully curved, fingers extended, toes pointed, impossibly long legs lifted into the air. They stood there, motionless, until the woman sitting at the front of the room clapped her hands twice.

"Finish. Reverence, please."

The dancers slowly unfolded from their positions and formed into two straight lines in front of the instructor. The pianist played a slower, sweet melody that was familiar to everyone as they began the simple steps to the dance that closed every class. The boys ended in first position, hand to their chest in a bow, and the girls tucked one foot behind them, one arm arching up gracefully, before circling down as they curtsied.

The ballet mistress bowed to them as well, lifted her head and smiled at the students. "Dismissed. See you on tomorrow."

The students all seemed to let out a collective sigh of relief and peeled out of the studio, in pairs and small groups, friends naturally gravitating toward each other. Harry, Niall, and Perrie made their way towards the basement gym. Then Harry spotted Louis down at the other end of the corridor and he immediately perked up.

“Louis!” Harry came running down the hall causing every eye to turn his way. He really was the most stunning creature Louis had ever seen.

Harry skidded to a stop in front of Louis and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad I caught you Louis. Do you ever look at any of your emails? We have to meet with Sebastian in like 20 minutes for your fitting.”

“My fitting?” Louis questioned as Perrie and Niall both giggled into their hands beside him. Niall guffawed.

“Ah mate, yer first dance belt. What a treat! I remember getting me first one. Of course I’ve had to go up several sizes since then.” Niall smirked and wiggle his eyebrows up and down suggestively.

“Sure Niall. Come off it. You may’ve had to get a bigger belt because of your beer gut, but it’s definitely not because of the growing size of your wee wang.” Perrie cackled and ducked out of the way of Niall’s playful slap.

“How dare you Pez! You’ve not seen the goods I’m working with. If this is your subtle way of asking me for a show and tell, you could have just asked me.” Niall wrapped his arm around Perrie’s shoulder and gave a squeeze.

“Ugh! Get off me you monster!” Perrie pulled out of Niall’s grasp, but she was laughing and clearly amused by the blond Irishman. They both took off down the stairs chasing and taunting each other, leaving Harry and Louis alone at the end of the hallway.

“So Lou, c’mon you’re going to be late, and Sebastian hates waiting for students. He’ll take it out on you during the fitting. Believe me, you don’t want him tightening that measuring tape near your family jewels.

“Fitting?” Louis repeated in a shocked daze. “Fitting for what? And who’s this sadist Sebastian?”

“Lou, of course you have to wear a dance belt during our performance. You know that, right? You actually should’ve been wearing one this whole time we’ve been practicing, but you’ll definitely need one for the performance and you need to get it now so that you can have a couple of weeks to get used to it.” Harry explained this to Louis as he dragged him up the stairs to the 4th floor where the wardrobe and shoe masters’ offices were located.

Louis found the wardrobe and ballet shoes rooms fascinating. They took up half of the footprint of the building and housed hundreds, maybe thousands of costumes, wigs, and shoes. Harry dragged him past both of these areas and continued towards the far end of the floor.

Realization suddenly clicked in Louis’ slow moving, sleep-deprived brain, and he stumbled to an abrupt halt causing Harry to look back with a start.

“Wait! I’m getting one of those jockstrap things you guys wear? The thing that goes up your butt?!” Louis’ eyebrows shot up past the fringe that swooped across his forehead. “Can’t I just wear one of my ol’ jocks from footie?”

“No, Louis you can’t just wear one of your ‘footie jocks’.” Harry sighed dramatically, dragging Louis down the hall, “A dance belt is a vital piece of equipment.” He continued defensively as Louis rolled his eyes.

“Dance belts are specialized athletic supporters designed specifically for dance.  Men have balls, Lou. And dance belts help keep our genitals safely and securely held up and away from the danger of being crushed or bruised between our legs. I like having the security of knowing that my nuts aren’t going to get trapped and crushed between my thighs while I’m doing leaps and jetes.”

Louis sputtered a bit. He was very flustered could feel himself turn beet red thinking about Harry’s cock, balls, and his spectacular thighs. He felt almost faint.

Luckily, he was saved further embarrassment on this front by an office door opening a formidable man with a full head of silver hair and gold colored measuring tape around his neck stepping into the hall.

“You’re late Mr. Tomlinson. Mr. Styles, should I be blaming you for this fact?”

“Actually sir, Harry was graciously escorting me to your office because I got lost.” Louis jumped in seeing that Harry had a look of fear on his face and he was to Louis’ mind, the worst liar he had ever met.

“Ah well. Seeing as you’re a new student and not in the ballet program, I will overlook your tardiness this time. But I expect you to never be late again since you now know where I am.” With that Sebastian turned on his heel and strode back into his office. “Come along Tomlinson. Good day, Mr. Styles.”

“Can Harry stay?” Louis asked a bit frantically. Harry looked at him with a startled expression that ended in a smile.

“Can Mr. Styles stay for your dance belt fitting? Whatever for?” Sebastian was looking at Louis like he was insane.

“Sir, I don’t mind staying. I think that Louis is a bit intimidated by the idea of how the belt works. I can maybe help with tips or best practices?”

Sebastian rolled his eyes but waved them both into his office. “Alright. This is perhaps the strangest thing I’ve ever heard, but I’m on a tight schedule and need to get Tomlinson fitted by 4pm. Tip top!”

Harry followed Sebastian into his office with a reluctant Louis trailing after resignedly. Harry stood off to the side as Sebastian instructed Louis to remove his shoes and sweatpants and stand up on a square 3x3 platform raised about a foot off the ground.

Louis felt extremely self-conscious in his black cotton briefs and socks; he tried to look anywhere but at Harry. Sebastian asked him to turn to the left and then the right; he hadn’t removed the measuring tape from around his neck but he was toying with it with his long fingers and tilting his head slightly, seeming to be assessing Louis in some manner. He abruptly turned towards the wall behind him that was made up of hundreds of small drawers resembling old-fashioned library card catalog boxes. He raised on tiptoes and opened a drawer above him on his left. He grabbed an item out and then turned around and handed it to Louis.

“Put this on over your underpants. I’m just testing it for waist size.”

Louis held the offensive, flimsy flesh colored item in his hand like he’d just been given a slimy octopus to hold. He looked over at Harry who gave him a thumbs up and a grin, indicating with his turning hands that Louis was holding it backwards.

Louis slipped the dance belt on and pulled it up to sit on his hips. He felt ridiculous.

“No! Not like that. It must sit at your waist.” Sebastian stepped over and yanked the belt up so that it came to the deep indention of Louis’ small waist and the thong of the belt slip between his ass cheeks, shoving the cotton of his briefs into his crack.

“Ack!” Louis exclaimed, surreptitiously attempting to pull the thong out of his ass.

“No no, leave it there Mr. Tomlinson.” Sebastian batted away Louis’ hand as Harry giggled from the corner. “It looks like I’m going to have to give you a lesson concerning the importance and functionality of a dance belt, Mr. Tomlinson.” Sebastian peered at him above his reading glasses.

“Dance belts were created to form a smooth, idealized male shape under tights with no visible lines. Genital protection and support are needed. But this needs to occur without you providing a graphic male anatomy lesson for the other students or audience. And because tights are form-fitting, any conventional underwear or jockstrap shows right through them.  Dance belts avoid these lines by eliminating the jockstrap’s rear straps, replacing them with a thong that goes between the buttocks. “

“But I don’t wear tights! And I’m bloody well not going to if I can help it!” Louis protested.

“Mr. Tomlinson.” Sebastian scolded, “A secondary benefit is the dance belt’s ability to hide any visible evidence of a spontaneous erection, which could be extremely embarrassing in class or on stage. Whether you’re wearing ballet tights or not.  And in ballet, or in any dance form, mid-class “adjustments” are considered vulgar and bad form, don’t you agree?  And the most important function of a dance belt is to keep the male genitals out of harm’s way. 5th position beats, and sautés changement, can all crush an errant testicle left hanging below the crotch line. The testicles must be solidly supported to avoid bouncing and clanging during leaps and jumps. The penis must be tightly controlled. Tight fabric must not restrict nor inhibit movement of active muscles in the trunk and legs like the gluteus, hamstrings, abductors, etc.

A dance belt should be as close to invisible as possible under tights. The inevitable male bulge should be smoothed out and not embarrassing. And once it’s on and adjusted, nothing should move inside the dance belt, regardless of the stretching, leaping, and contortions the dancer engages in.”

Sebastian whipped the measuring tape from around his neck and placed both of his hands on either side of Louis’ waist.

“Dance belts are measured by waist size. And you have an unusually small waist compared to your hips and buttocks, Mr. Tomlinson. So fitting you for a dance belt will be more difficult. But I am NOT above this challenge.” And with that Sebastian proceeded to measure Louis’ waist, his hips, the diameter of his thighs, and the line from his waist as it tapered down to his hip; he even measured the swell of his ass. Louis tried to turn towards Harry to see if this was normal and to gauge his reaction, but every time he turned to look towards the corner, Sebastian forcibly returned his head facing frontwards.

Finally, after all of the measuring, pinning and marking on the sample belt he was wearing was done, Louis was instructed to remove it carefully to give to Sebastian, and was allowed to move off the dais and put his sweatpants back on.

*************************************************************************************************************************************************

Two weeks later Louis found Harry as he was coming out of a class talking with Perrie and their friend Jade about some gossip involving two New York City ballet principals that were having an affair. Louis approached the trio somewhat shyly and they all abruptly stopped talking.

“Uh, Harry? Um, can I talk to you for a minute? Alone.” Louis pointedly ignored Perrie and Jade’s raised eyebrows and smirks.

“Sure. Uh, let’s go in here. There isn’t another class starting for another hour.” Harry opened the door for Louis and closed it behind him.

“So, uh, Sebastian gave me my dance belt this morning.” Louis looked down at the studio floor not meeting Harry’s eyes.

“Did you put it on? It doesn’t look like you have it on?” Harry asked as his eyes swept over Louis’ cotton legging covered legs and ass.

“Um..no..I..uh tried? I couldn’t really figure it out. Like how are you supposed to…um, so your balls are supposed to go inside that pouch thing, right? This is horribly embarrassing Hazza. Can you help me?”

Harry’s eyes went wide and he flushed slightly, but he then quickly smiled and nodded his head. “Yes, of course I’ll help. I learned at 13 but I didn’t get the hang of it really for like a proper two years. Um, we can go in the changing rooms now, there shouldn’t be anyone there.” Harry walked towards the studio door and waited for Louis to follow him, which he did after a nod of his head.

Once they were inside the small locker room on that floor, Louis realized that this might have been the worst idea he’d ever had. He’d asked Harry to help him put on a dance belt?! Was Harry going to have his hands on him, DOWN THERE? Louis felt all of the blood rush from his head and settle in his groin. He willed himself not get an erection with Harry this close to him.

“So I figured I’d stand here on this side of these lockers, and you could stand on the other side near the shower entrance? That way you could still have privacy but I could like talk you through it?” Harry smiled and Louis couldn’t help his heart from fluttering with how helpful and earnest Harry was being.

“That’s a good idea, thanks.” Louis nodded and walked around to the other side of the metal lockers. He was glad no other guys were in the room and he hoped it stayed that way.

“Okay, let’s get started!” Harry said exuberantly.

Lois removed his loose cotton leggings and his underpants, feeling ridiculously like Winnie-the-Pooh standing there in just his socks and t-shirt.

Harry continued. “Although you’ve probably never worn anything else even half as tight as a dance belt, a well fitted one can actually be quite comfortable once you get used to the unusual feel.  The important thing is to get all of your junk in there as comfortably as possible, because once belt’s on, nothing is supposed to move until you take it off.  If you find that “slippage” is happening and shit is shifting around, it means that the dance belt isn’t a good fit or you’re wearing it wrong. And since Sebastian is like the best in the business you really shouldn’t have to worry about fit.”

“Alright, so the thong part obviously goes to the back.” Louis said as he stepped into the belt like he would a pair of briefs.

“Yeah. You want to pull the dance belt up over your hipbones, so that it sits at your natural waist. And dude do not try to cheat and wear it low, like you would some jeans or summat. You can’t avoid that thong going up your ass. Thong tension is important.” Harry said this boisterously like he was speaking at a union meeting. Louis giggled but started to pull the straps of the belt up his thighs.

“Your cock is supposed to end up facing up towards your belly button, so you can get that process started by letting the dance belt catch it as you pull it on. Does that make sense?” Harry this all very matter of factly but Louis was still very affected by hearing Harry says words like ‘cock’ and ‘catch’.  

“Ok, next comes the trickiest part of the process; it’s called the ‘swoop and scoop’.” Louis could practically hear Harry’s eyebrows wiggling up and down like the goofball that he was. Louis started to giggle.

“Harold! Don’t make me laugh. I can’t swoop or scoop anything if I’m laughing so hard I can’t stay upright. Now how the fuck am I swooping? And what am I scooping?”

“Um, reach inside the dance belt and pull your scrotum up so that it sits inside the pouch.  Your balls need to be up and front, well clear of their usual dangling position.  Then adjust your cock to face straight up.” Harry continued when he only heard silence on the other side of the room. “You got it handled over there?”

Louis came around to the other side of the lockers, his face blushing a beet red and looking extremely uncomfortable.

“It doesn’t seem right. I uh don’t know what I did wrong.” Louis’ voice was barely above a whisper.

Harry could immediately see what the problem was but didn’t really know how to explain it. So he stepped over to Louis and stood behind him reaching for his waist.

“I’m going to adjust the thong tension and the pouch and I’m sorry for touching you so intimately, but it’s just easier for me to do this and for you to feel where the belt should go than explaining it?”

Louis gulped past the sudden lump in his throat.

“Um the pouch is riding too far up in front.” And with that Harry pulled the thong out from between Louis’ ass cheeks and pulled it down and back pulling the pouch bottom so that it met the thong at the perineum.

Louis felt his cock fattening up and sucked in a deep breath. Harry continued his adjustments and Louis felt his breath on his back through his t-shirt as he spoke.

“You’ve got to make sure the thong is firmly seated between your butt cheeks as far up your crack as possible, pulling any looseness towards the rear waistband.” Harry finished his ministrations but still left his hands on the dip of Louis’ waist.

“At first, you can expect some discomfort wearing a dance belt.  But soon you’ll be jumping and leaping around with wild abandon, knowing you won't feel that painful bounce when you land. Okay, you’re good to go.” Harry patted Louis’s hips and suddenly blushed and turned away.

“Ok, thanks.” Louis still wasn’t speaking above a whisper, his erection fulling straining against the nylon of the dance belt. Oh god! Harry noticed his hard on didn’t he! He was seriously going to die of embarrassment. Louis pulled on his leggings as fast as he could and ran out of the locker rooms telling Harry he’d see him at rehearsal later.

***************************************************************************************************************************************************

“Fouettés, class it is time to perfect them!” Madame Vienne announces at the beginning of Louis’s class. He groans in protest but quickly quiets when Madame shot him a look with narrowed eyes and a frown. Louis hates fouettés and Madame knows this. Louis couldn’t deny that over the last few months he had become a much better dancer, a true professional, and that it was due in large part to Madame Vienne and her tireless discipline. But that still didn’t change the fact that he thought she was evil incarnate. As Madame walked by, Louis looked over at his friend Leigh-Anne who was a jazz dancer and rolled his eyes, then made a gagging motion with his finger towards his mouth.

 

“Monsieur Tomlinson, since you seem very insistent on being the center of attention in my class today, you will demonstrate the proper technique to execute a perfect fouetté."

Bloody fucking hell! This woman would be his death; she totally had it out for him. She never picked on anyone else in class and Louis knew he wasn’t the worst student. Or even the most disruptive. He seethed with anger but nodded his head towards Madame Vienne as she gave him a stern look of reproach.

Louis stepped to the middle of the room and placed his right foot flat on the floor in plie with his knee slightly bent. He then extended his left leg and whipped it around to the side and then bent and pulled the leg in towards his knee before extending it back out as he turned in a circle using his right foot to rotate in place as he raised and lowered his heel and extended his arms and brought them back to his chest. Louis did two of the turns before stopping and looking at Madame for approval or critique.

“Again!” Madame Vienne stomped her foot in time. Louis did another turn and Madame chanted Again! Again! over and over and Louis kept turning and turning.

Louis did fouettés until he could feel his calves burning. He felt sweat pouring off him and wondered at the sadistic nature of this tiny elderly French woman in a navy leotard and pink silk skirt. More fouettés until Louis lost track of all time and space; there was only him and the movement.

“Switch legs!” Madame Vienne demanded and Louis complied. After several more revolutions, Madame Vienne shouted “Enough!” Louis stopped and immediately bent forward placing both hands on his knees and breathing deeply. He felt almost dizzy. Madame Vienne came up to him and placed her small wizened hand on his back .

“Bon, Louis. Vous etes bien. You’re alright, Louis. Just breathe.” She rubbed her hand a few times up and down his back comfortingly and he slowly stood back up inhaling deeply. Madame Vienne was inexplicably smiling at him.

“Class, that is how a fouetté sequence is performed. I hope you all paid attention to Louis’s technique. Merveilleux, Louis.”

Louis looked at Madame Vienne in shock and nodded his head thanking her. “Merci madame.”

 

As Madame turned back to the class as a whole and shouted instructions to begin floor combinations, Louis looked over to Leigh-Anne whose wide-eye expression of sheer disbelief almost made him want to dissolve into giggles. Instead he shrugged his shoulders and smiled, and moved into position to follow along with the rest of the class as Madame shouted out her commands.

 

“ Embôité, embôité, chasse, chasse, arabesque…” 

 

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

“Harry it was amazing! I couldn’t believe it. Madame Vienne told the class that I had good technique. Me! She told me I was wonderful! I’m still in shock and it was like 12 hours ago.” Louis was still beaming from his experience in his ballet class that morning and Harry was struck by how the happiness Louis was exuding almost made his skin glow like he’d trapped sunlight underneath it. Harry could look at Louis forever like this; he could look at Louis forever in any and all forms. Harry like Louis immensely. Harry liked Louis when he was tired in the early mornings when they practiced and he hadn’t had his tea yet; he liked him when he was playful and making fun of Harry, or Niall or Perrie or Leigh-Ann; he liked Louis when he got angry at some injustice he felt had been thrown his way, whether it was Calvin not giving him any less work as the semester progressed or the corner deli being out of falafel; he liked him when he was frustrated and storming out of rooms when he didn’t get a dance step right away or put himself down for not being good enough; Harry liked him when he was excited like he was now, telling his stories with lots of hand movement, exuberant gestures, and wacky facial expressions; and Harry definitely liked Louis when he was soft and sweet, like when he spoke about his mum and his sisters and brother, or sometimes when they were lying on the floor of a practice studio late at night, exhausted from hours of dance and just quietly sharing their hopes and dreams with each other. Harry liked Louis and he knew he was fucked because it just might be turning into love.

A couple of hours later, Harry and Louis took a break from their practice rehydrate and take some notes on the few new steps that they’d added to their showcase routine. It was really coming along beautifully.

After Louis had agreed to do the showcase with Harry, he had been extremely nervous and convinced for the first couple of weeks that he’d never get the steps or master the grace that the piece needed, but Harry had been convinced that he could do it. Not that the first several rehearsals hadn’t gone rather awfully; with either Louis or Harry stomping off and groaning in frustration, only to come back minutes later with chagrined apologies.

But all of their hard work had paid off. Almost a month and a half later, the piece was shaping up nicely and they were confident that people would be blown away when they saw it. The plan was that Harry would begin the dance doing Saint-Loup’s solo but en pointe to show off that unique skill and change it up. Louis would then join him as Morel; they were keeping most of Petit’s choreography exactly the same, but incorporating hip-hop movements and tricks into the dance whenever Louis as Morel was on the floor in some way. After the formal Petit choreography ended, Harry had suggested that Louis add a more traditional hip-hop part to the end of the routine; that way it would bookend the piece nicely with Harry’s ballet at the beginning  and their combined disciplines in the middle.

The transition into Louis’s solo section was what they were working on now; it was the most difficult because it had the hardest music change up. They had decided to keep Gabriel Faure’s Elegie op. 24 as the music for most of the piece but towards the end of the dance when Louis and Harry would be at the climax of the battle the Faure would flow into the Vitamin String Quartet’s version of “Say Something” because the forlorn sound of the strings was a perfect ending to the battle. Louis’s solo would be done to Madcon’s “Beggin” just as Harry had wanted.  If everything flowed right, it would be a standout piece; radically different than anything anyone else was doing, with a slightly controversial theme and two dynamic dancers to pull it off. If they could get that end transition right.

Louis took a large sip from his water bottle and then leaned back to rest on his forearms and elbows. He was collapsed on the floor and wasn’t sure he had the energy to get up again.

“Did you always know that you wanted to dance for a living?” Louis asked hesitantly. He still didn’t know much about Harry’s childhood or how he got into dance.

Harry stood up and stretched his right leg up on the barre, stretching and massaging his calf.

“I started ballet lessons when I was 5 because my older sister Gemma was doing it and I wanted to do anything Gemma was doing. The small ballet school in Cheshire was run by an older Russian ballet mistress named Madame Trolka who had danced with the Bolshoi.

She was a tireless, and slightly mean old woman who carried around a big ebony walking stick that she would thump on the floor to help us focus on the beat of the music and that she’d also use to poke at us if she didn’t like the way we were dancing. I was the only boy in any of her classes. I was the only boy that she had ever taught and she didn’t know any other way to teach nor did she feel the need to try and alter her training for me just because I was a boy. So when all of the other girls learned pointe, Madame Trolka put me in pointe shoes too. She said it would strengthen my feet anyway, which she was never happy about. Imagine being angry at a 7 year old because their feet and ankles aren’t strong enough? Ballet is so cruel to children.” Harry stopped talking and dropped his leg from the barre, sitting down and leaning against the mirrored studio wall, a slight frown on his face. He looked like he was remembering some difficult times as a kid.

Louis kept silent but gave Harry a small smile of support and he continued.

“Going on pointe doesn’t happen only from the feet.  It actually initiates from the hip. You have to maintain the cushion of the turnout in order to use your whole legs to get you up onto pointe.  If you use your turnout properly, you’ll have strong, but supple, pointe work.  Proper turnout also helps you not sit in your shoe. I’m telling you all of this boring crap because Trolka was relentless with me. She made me practice for hours upon hours, holding my hips with her bony hands, making me do relevé upon relevé until my feet were practically bleeding.

My mother was fucking horrified and threatened to sue Madame Trolka and pulled both Gemma and me out of her class. Gemma didn’t care, in fact I think she was a little relieved because she didn’t really like ballet. But I begged to go back. I thrived on the discipline of ballet. I needed it. And the feeling that I got when I did a perfect set of ronds de jambs or a leap high in the air, there was no better feeling. I wanted to feel it forever. I never feel as live as when I’m dancing. So yes, to answer your question, I’ve always known that I would dance for a living.”

 

Louis scooted over to sit next to Harry. They sat close together. They could feel the heat coming from each other’s body.

 

“I feel alive when I dance too. As soon as I step out onto a stage or the wood floor of a cramped practice studio, or even the sidewalk of a city street, everything else melts away and it’s just my body and the music. I feel like I become one with the music; it flows through the air and into my veins. My body moves in perfect synchrony. My mum told me once that I didn’t live to dance, but danced to live. It was the way that she convinced me to come here to the Royal. Now, months later, I can’t believe I ever considered not going. What if I hadn’t swallowed my fear and I’d stayed in Manchester? What if I hadn’t come here and learned all of the amazing things that I’ve learned? What if I had gone on living my sad, little life never knowing what a jeté or an entrechat was? What if I had never met you, Harry? I can’t imagine a world without you in it. I can’t imagine you not being in my life. I don’t want to.”

“Louis..”

“No Harry I need to get this out. If I don’t say it now I may never say it. I’m pretty sure I love you. I mean, I think I’m falling in love with you. I don’t know when it happened. These feelings I have for you just seem like a part of who I am now; I almost don’t think about it anymore, except that’s a lie, I think about you all the time. Okay, I’m going to shut up now.”

“Louis, I feel the same way about you.” Harry’s green eyes were bright and so intense as he looked at Louis tenderly.

Louis reached up and cupped the side of Harry’s face with his hand, brushing his thumb along Harry’s cheekbone. “You are so perfect, Harry.”

Harry leaned closer and brushed his lips along Louis’s cheek and jaw causing Louis let out a low whimper. And then Harry was kissing him. Louis wanted to melt. If it wasn’t for Harry’s arms around him, he might have just been reduced to a puddle of goo on the floor. Everything about Harry’s mouth was everything Louis had dreamed it would be. Louis ran his tongue along the seam of Harry’s plush lips and licked inside his mouth. Harry pulled Louis closer so that he was practically sitting in Harry’s lap.

“I could kiss you forever.” Harry murmured against Louis’s lips. He pulled back slightly and rested his forehead against Louis’s. “But we have a kick-ass routine to finish and people to impress. But I promise when the showcase performance is over and the semester break begins, I’m going to ravish you, Louis Tomlinson.” Harry kissed Louis hard again causing him to make tiny whimpering noises in the back of his throat.

“Soon Louis, soon. Just a few more weeks and then when we can wreck each other.” Harry mouthed at Louis’s collarbones, sucking little purple bruises into his skin.

Louis was so affected by Harry’s kisses, his touches, god his HANDS. His heart was beating so hard against his ribs that he thought they might snap in half. But he could wait. He could wait as long as it takes to get all of Harry.

“Just a few more weeks.” Louis repeated, placing a gentle kiss on Harry’s cheek. “Now let’s blow everyone’s minds!

 

Three weeks later, Louis and Harry stood on stage in front of a full house in the Royal’s large performance hall. They were dressed exactly the same, in flesh colored leotards under black yoga pants. Harry was wearing flesh-toned toe shoes and Louis was barefoot. They addressed the crowd together to introduce their piece.

“Good evening, my name is Harry Styles.”

“And I am Louis Tomlinson.”

“I am a dancer trained in ballet and Louis’s dance discipline is hip-hop. Tonight we will be showing you just how powerful dance can be when you combine the strengths of different types of styles. Louis and I have both learned a lot from each other throughout this process. Dancing to hip hop and rap music has taught me how to read tempo better, and to calculate my movements faster and more efficiently.”

Louis stepped closer to stand beside Harry. “And from ballet I’ve learned about extension and grace and core strength which are all important aspects of hip-hop dancing.”

“We’ve taken Roland Petit’s Ballet Proust and updated it for a modern audience. We hope you enjoy it.”

And with that Harry and Louis turned to walk off to opposite sides of the stage to begin, but not before Louis grabbed Harry’s hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Harry looked at him and smiled. It didn’t matter how the performance went, although Harry was sure they’d dance perfectly. As long as he had this smiling, beautiful boy beside him he’d, they’d, be alright.

 

***************************************************************FIN*********************************************************************************

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope to come back to these characters in future ficlets. Maybe I'll finally give you guys that smut I promised.


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